


Trigger Happy

by snaeken



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Gun Kink, Hand Jobs, M/M, Overstimulation, Smut, Void Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-21
Updated: 2019-09-21
Packaged: 2020-10-25 09:04:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20721668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snaeken/pseuds/snaeken
Summary: A supply run goes awry when Theo bumps into someone he hasn't seen for years. Despite the gunfight going on around them, Theo lays his life on the line for the best sex he's ever had.





	Trigger Happy

“Alpha-Three, come in.”

Silence.

“Alpha-Three, come _in_.”

More silence.

Theo curses his piece of shit radio, and his team for not using their piece of shit radios, and keeps moving. Another round of gunfire rattles off, not in the immediate vicinity but still close enough to be a threat. The returning fire tells him at least one of his team are still alive.

It was supposed to be a simple supply run; get in, get out, get gone. Nothing in this world is ever simple though. Not since Gerard Argent, not since Monroe, not since the war in Beacon Hills spread countywide, then countrywide, then worldwide.

It’s a war on all sides, people killing for the sake of killing nowadays rather than some perverse doctrines they used to justify it in the beginning.

The rain has reduced his visibility but it’s not a huge issue; if he can’t see them, they definitely can’t see him. Plus there’s the whole chimera thing. Provided there’s no gunfire next to his ears - _thank you, Shaw_ \- he can hear the heartbeats of those nearby, totally thwarting their attempts at stealth.

The buildings are crumbling, full of bullet holes both old and new, the scars of previous battles waged here. The town is nothing special, you could travel just about anywhere and find places in similar states of disrepair. It’s just Theo’s shitty luck that his team turned out not to be the only ones scouting this area.

A bone crunches beneath his feet and he freezes, listening for potential threats. He hears nothing through the gunfire and the rain, so continues deeper through the maze of buildings.

When he hears a frantic heartbeat shortly afterward and ascertains it doesn’t belong to anyone on his own team, he tracks it. Finding the guy is easy and dispatching him is even more so; a quick snap of the neck and he’s gone.

No longer hearing any heartbeats nearby, Theo rounds the next corner—

—Only to be immediately slammed up against the wall.

_Impossible_, he thinks, pain bursting through his head as he focuses on his assailant.

They’re taller than him, features entirely obscured through the mask they’re wearing and the long, hooded jacket.

And yet, even through the rain, their scent is unmistakeable.

_Impossible_, he thinks again, as Stiles Stilinski pulls his hood down and removes his mask.

“I thought my sources were wrong when they said you’d been spotted, Theo.” Stiles pins him harder against the wall, the sandstone giving the slightest crack behind him. “Looks like they were right.”

Something is very, very wrong.

War changes people, yes. But something is off with Stiles on a base level. Some fundamental part of his humanity has changed or been altered somehow. They’re still his eyes but there’s a darkness within that Theo could only have dreamed of them containing back in Beacon Hills. There’s no way he should have the physical strength to hold Theo in place, let alone to be able to crack stone.

_Impossible_, Theo thinks yet again when he places what had thrown him from the start.

Stiles doesn’t have a heartbeat.

"What-"

"Did I say you could speak?"

Stiles's gaze is malevolent, his eyes exuding an entirely unfamiliar self-assuredness and power. Despite himself, Theo's dick twitches. This is the Stiles of his teenage self's wet dreams, the evil accomplice he had dreamed of.

Still, Beacon Hills was a long, long time ago and it's evident neither of them are who they used to be. It's laughable, really; that the Dread Doctors were his biggest concern for so long, when he takes into consideration what he deals with nowadays.

"What are you?" Theo asks, because even when it works against his best interests he's always liked pushing the rules, bending them just shy of breaking them.

"Oh, this?" Stiles glances down at his chest then back at Theo, quick as a flash. His lips quirk up into the barest hint of a smirk; Theo's trademark expression, back in the day. "Didn't you hear? I died three years ago."

No, he hadn't heard that.

He hasn't heard much of anything from the McCall pack since everything fell apart in New York, when he high-tailed it out of there to save his own skin. Then again, can two werewolves and a chimera really be classed as a pack? They all had noble intentions of staying together at the start, of fighting the war against the hunters together. It didn't take long for tensions to rise between them after their first loss, when arguments of morality versus immorality caused certain members to splinter off into their own smaller groups, risking trying to survive in this global warzone themselves.

He should be attacking, or escaping, or doing literally anything other than standing here being pinned to a wall. And yet. He's always had a weakness when it came to Stiles, and apparently time and distance and nearly dying too many times to count hasn't altered it at all.

"Let's just say things didn't go too well for me in Argentina. So do you know what I did, when I died?"

Theo shakes his head and Stiles's smirk widens.

"I let it in." His eyes flash, there and gone again, blink and you miss it. Even more power is radiating off of Stiles than before. "It turns out the nogitsune is much more cooperative when we both want the same thing."

Theo's dick hardens, straining against the fabric of his pants. He doesn't even try to fight it. Some long-dormant part of himself is awakening again due to seeing Stiles like this, reminding himself who he used to be before and during Beacon Hills. Stiles had always been the one person he was never able to fool, the one person who was able to spot his bad intentions from a mile away. And now he's this.

Smirk widening even further, Stiles cups Theo's dick with his free hand and squeezes. Theo keens, arching into the touch, trying to get more pressure. His head is still pounding from the impact against the wall and Stiles definitely broke the skin there; he can feel the itchiness of his body healing the injury. He can blame that for how compromised he's allowed himself to become.

"So needy," Stiles tuts, withdrawing his hand. Theo chases him to no avail, his movement still heavily restricted by being pinned to the wall. "This is what you want?"

"Yes."

It should be embarrassing, how quickly he responded, how open he's being about his desire.

"Say it again."

"_Yes_."

The word is barely out of his mouth and Stiles has closed the distance between them, pressing himself flush against Theo's body. Shouts ring out in the distance but he doesn't try to focus on them, too distracted with rutting against Stiles's thigh, taking the pleasure he so desperately needs.

Stiles snakes his hand up beneath Theo's shirt, scraping a nail against his nipple, just the right side of rough. He shudders, pressing his face against Stiles's neck, tasting the skin there, the taste of smoke and dust and gunfire settling in his mouth.

There were too many _almosts_ in Beacon Hills - on the hospital roof, in his stupid jeep, and the rest - for him not to do this now, when he's been presented with such a prime opportunity. He kisses Stiles desperately, their teeth clanging in his incoordination, blood welling out of his bottom lip when Stiles bites down on it. Stiles licks across the wound and Theo can feel his smirk, seemingly a permanent fixture nowadays. It's unbearable.

"More," he pants between heavy breaths, still rutting against Stiles's thigh, so good yet not even close to being enough. Stiles squeezes his nipple and twists it, far more pain than pleasure and Theo breaks the kiss, crying out as he tries to make Stiles let go of his nipple--

\--Only to find the muzzle of a gun pressed to his mouth instead.

"I wouldn't," Stiles says when Theo extends his claws. "Open up."

He keeps his teeth firmly clamped together so Stiles presses the gun against his mouth more forcefully, enough to hurt. Supernatural healing is a wonderful thing, however teeth don't regenerate - an interesting fact he learned from his time with the Dread Doctors - and he would rather keep them all in his mouth for as long as possible.

He finally relents and Stiles shoves the gun into his mouth, his smirk ever present. The fact is, Theo doesn't know what Stiles is physically capable of now. He has immense physical strength, that much Theo knows. But what else can he do? He has no heartbeat. He shouldn't even be _alive_. Teamed up with the nogitsune, what else is Stiles Stilinski capable of?

There are three things Theo loves: a mystery, a challenge, and power.

Stiles is all three.

He thrusts his hips, desperate for some friction, finding nothing but empty air.

Stiles laughs. "You like this, do you?"

Theo nods minutely around the gun, careful not to make any abrupt or jarring movements which could lead to a rather... unfortunate outcome for him in this altercation.

Stiles takes a step forward, the gun moving with it and pressing against his soft palate. Theo recommences rutting against Stiles's thigh, not daring to take his eyes off the other man for even a second.

"It all seems so childish, looking back now," Stiles muses, finally removing his arm from Theo's chest, giving his dick another squeeze before staring to unzip his fly. Theo forces himself to still to make it easier, to get his dick out quicker, and in no time at all Stiles is slowly pumping the length of it, Theo shallowly thrusting into his hold. Those long fingers feel just as good as he always imagined they would.

"But back when we were in Beacon Hills? You ruined my life."

Theo knows this. Stiles knows this. Hell, anyone who was there at the time knows this.

"Manipulating my friends and turning them against me? Turning _Scott_ against me? My dad ending up in hospital?" Stiles stills his hand. "Donovan?"

Gunshots go off in their vicinity and it takes Theo a moment to realise he's still alive. Once he does, it's thrilling.

"Do you remember it?" Stiles asks.

_Everything_, he thinks.

"Still, I don't hold a grudge over it, not anymore. Who has time to dwell on the past when there's so much more interesting stuff going on in the present?"

Stiles flicks off the safety on his gun.

Every cell in his body is _screaming danger danger run run run get away_. Theo has never felt more alive.

He slowly thrusts into Stiles's hand, like if he doesn't go too fast then Stiles won't notice what he's doing. That this isn't just the most thrilling encounter he's had with the other man; that it's the single most thrilling encounter Theo's had in his life.

He forces his tongue to stay at the bottom of his mouth; it keeps pressing itself to the gun of its own volition, wanting to explore the foreign object in his mouth. Every time it does, the taste of oil coats it further. He's pretty sure the taste has seeped into his gums at this point, that he'll be able to taste it for days.

Assuming he lives that long, of course.

A cloud of dust billows past them and Theo's radio crackles, startling him. Shaw's voice starts to come out of it, the beginnings of a request for him to check in. Before the message is finished, Stiles crushes the radio between his fingers. He knows he'll be mad about it later but right now Theo just doesn't care.

"Oops," Stiles says, wrapping his hand around Theo's dick again and pumping him at a steady rhythm. Theo meets every pump with a thrust, his body on high alert, every nerve ending standing on end, desperate to get off. He needs it. He _needs_ it.

Stiles speeds up, going faster, faster, until Theo's curling his toes in his boots and he's seeing stars as he cums, his release spattering against Stiles's jacket. Stiles milks him through it, squeezing out every last drop.

But then he keeps going.

Theo tries to remain still, always aware of the gun in his mouth, but it's difficult not to writhe about when he's been pushed entirely over the edge into overstimulation. His claws are out again, digging into the wall behind him, and he knows his eyes are yellow. He's too sensitive and it's too much and no matter what direction he thrusts his hips, Stiles's hand is right there, continuing to pump him.

When he can't take it anymore he cries out around the gun, more of a roar than any human sound, and Stiles finally releases him. Theo's chest heaves as he tries to catch his breath, and Stiles finally removes the gun from his mouth, flicking the safety back on and hooking it into the waist of his pants.

"You also saved my life in Beacon Hills, more than once. And after, too. So this time we're even. But Theo?" Stiles stares right at him, practically through him, then flashes his eyes long enough for Theo to see the darkness within him. "Next time, you won't be so lucky."

He walks away and Theo watches him, never taking his eyes off of him until he's out of sight. He tucks himself back into his pants, still tender to the touch, and slumps back against the wall.

That's how Shaw finds him not even thirty seconds later.

"The hell happened to you?" he barks. "The enemy are retreating. Ziegler was hit but he'll live."

Theo nods, swallowing. He looks in the direction Stiles left again but of course there's no sign of him.

"All right, let's grab what we came here for and move out."


End file.
